


Like Paris (We Stood Upon the Ruins)

by witheringsoul



Series: For Thine is The Kingdom [2]
Category: BLACKPINK (Band)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Complete, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:34:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28878822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witheringsoul/pseuds/witheringsoul
Summary: Have you ever wondered how Chaelisa came to be? This is what happened: two butterflies; flaps of wings; chaos.This story precedes and exists in the same canon-compliant universe as Buried Giants.
Relationships: Jennie Kim/Kim Jisoo, Lalisa Manoban | Lisa/Park Chaeyoung | Rosé
Series: For Thine is The Kingdom [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2117826
Comments: 5
Kudos: 35





	Like Paris (We Stood Upon the Ruins)

**Like Paris (We Stood Upon the Ruins)**

Back when tigers used to smoke—many fairy tales beginning with this phrase instead of “once upon a time” was one of the first things Chaeyoung noticed upon arriving in Korea, she had thought of long hallways, empty rooms with unfinished canvas on a lonely easel, and equally empty chairs soon filled with smiling children clutching crayon set, the strap of their backpack, or worn paintbrushes of varying sizes.

She had thought, no _dreamed_ , of bumping into someone—a vivid image of slicked-back hair, lean frame, and rolled-up sleeves; he could be a teacher from the music class down the hallway she once saw at the church—and feeling her heart skipped over spilled books or coffee on the floor, both of which were pretty romantic for a first meeting anyway. They would confess their love where their bare feet touched dewed grasses, when the sun first bathed her hometown yellow; or where water seeped in between toes, sands dipped beneath soles, and when the sky was a surreal painting of orange and purple—slowly turning blue. The proposal to their engagement would be done right after he finished hosting a piano recital at school; he himself would play her a song, would sing to her like he always did, then knelt down with a gold band embedded with a small diamond in his hands. They would definitely marry at the lovely chapel not far away from where she lived; her family would be beaming from the upmost front of pews, and _he_ in front of her, towering over her head, where a garland of roses sat upright. Her father would dance with her, which was a thing she had prayed for ever since she saw Cinderella at the wedding ball with nothing but three pairs of envious eyes accompanying her from home.

She had thought of flowers, be it held in a pot or sprouted from trimmed bushes, lining up the white picket fence of their house. The streets were always bare of speeding vehicles that their children could always play around with the neighboring kids while she and her husband would peek from behind a curtain of faux silk all the while stealing kisses, making up for time lost to taking care of their growing family.

One day her father drove her to an audition, instead of to school, where she played her guitar singing _I Won’t Give Up_ with apparent detachment to its original singer. And there happened the first flap of wings. Much later, she would like to think that there had been another butterfly, oceans away, whose flutters of wings had caused her rising winds to bloom into a hurricane.

Though it opened with the same line, hers was not a fairy tale. It wasn’t blessed by unusual happiness. There was no act one or two or three. Both exposition and inciting incident were never distinct and grandiose enough. Here, it was all chaos. It could be of anything but never of nothing—just like _she_ was. Lisa: the other butterfly in her chaos, as she was one in Lisa’s. Now her prayers were not of comfort or order or ideal; they were of a simple hope that old philosopher didn’t lie—that their chaos, _God, their chaos!_ would truly give birth to a dancing star.

*****

She never really remembered her first kiss with Lisa. She was sure, however, that it had happened during one of those times when they had doubled over laughing at some stupid jokes or some silly fights they did—her hands clasped in Lisa’s; her cheeks cushioned Lisa’s probing nose; her ears took in all the laughter. If she tried a little harder, she could see herself looking back at Lisa chasing after her. They were running down the street towards the YG building. The clouds had just uncoiled to open ways for the afternoon light to greet the city. Her shoes, stained brown, splattered muddy water here and there. It didn’t stop the happiness bubbling inside her chest though especially when she and Lisa got into the restroom, slammed the door shut, and leaned against it just in time for the bubbles to burst in a cacophony of chortles.

“You should’ve run faster, Lisa-yah,” she said. “We should stop being late from Myeong-dong.”

Lisa might have stopped giggling altogether while Chaeyoung still tittered in between her words. She could recall looking at Lisa with an amused snort as Lisa had gazed at her. It was a look she later only associated with Lisa. Lisa’s eyes actually glazed over. Instead of seeming unfocused, Lisa looked endearing like that—like Chaeyeoung was the only regard. And it always flushed Chaeyoung red.

The kiss had happened in a flash, followed by Chaeyoung’s blinking and spluttering and Lisa’s tiny grin.

“Sorry, you just looked so pretty, Chaeyoung-ah.”

Or maybe it had happened during one of her breakdowns after a long day at practice. They were the only ones left that night: their voice scratchy and their body ached. Chaeyoung could still feel how the clothes stuck to her sweaty skin, how the frigid air nipped at her trembling hands, and how her body followed suit with a similar tremble, slumping down against the wall and just shivering against it. Lisa was quick to catch and hold her, lulling her poisonous mind from a hissing mess of a slither to a tame, sleepy curl. They didn’t talk at times like this; they never needed to. They just wiped each other’s tears and snots, and looked ugly together. But Lisa still had that glazed over look and Chaeyoung still threw an amused, albeit lazy, snort.

The kiss had been no longer than a second; there had been no linger to it. But it was forever etched to Chaeyoung’s mind that her cross pendant had been cold against her fingertips and that Lisa’s lips had been warm against her chapped ones.

Years later her fingers still fiddle with the cross—it too was still cold. And Lisa still kissed her—it lingered on now, warmer too: like persisting summer wind in an early fall.

It was with those beliefs in mind—or heart now—that she defied Yang-sajangnim for the first time. She was alone in his office, which usually left her feeling bare, but, at this moment, Yang-sajangnim’s pinched eyes and pursed lips seemed to be just another blizzard she would have to brace against.

“Your solo debut is set to launch after Jennie’s.” He rapped his plump fingers against the polished, wooden table. “Whatever it is you’re doing with Lisa,” he waved his hand, as if he were to swat some flies, “you have to stop.”

Yang-sajangnim took a glance at his phone before going back to zeroing in on her.

She supposed there had been no drastic change in how she and Lisa acted towards or in regards of each other though they did take their leap of faith about a month ago.

Chaeyoung had been munching on her _pho_ —Lisa had ordered it—while humming a Thai song she had memorized the lyrics of.

“I love you, Chaeng.”

There were two three-letter words Lisa often blurted with a crooked smile on her face: I love you and you’re so pretty. Both of which Chaeyoung couldn’t know how to reply though the two were resident ghosts at the back of her head, usually manifesting themselves when she was alone at night. They were most prevalent after a day of seeing Lisa draping herself all over Jennie unnie and feeling Lisa crawling into her bed the same night. Lisa would hug her from behind, intertwine their legs, and hover her nose over Chaeyoung’s bare shoulder, taking in Chaeyoung’s scent with each hitch of her breathing. Lisa did all of that with such heed Chaeyoung couldn’t help but wondered if Lisa experienced guilt as heavily as she did betrayal.

As always she just sent Lisa a smile with a cute—she hoped— _hmm_.

“Let’s date.”

When Chaeyoung just got glassy eyes, the unfocused kind not the endearing one, Lisa took Chaeyoung’s hand in between hers. Chaeyoung had never thought of how much bigger Lisa’s hands were compared to hers until that moment.

“I think,” Lisa leaned in closer, “whatever it is between us is worth a shot. We’re worth a shot,” Lisa tightened her grasp with a wavering smile, “aren’t we?”

It wasn’t romantic at all; Chaeyoung could bet she even got food smeared on her lips. But every word came in such effortless rolls out of Lisa’s mouth as if they were the only truth; but _that_ glazed over look was there once again, Chaeyoung’s face a shimmer on the surface, as if Chaeyoung were the only thing divine. Every part of her, the rational and the emotional, screamed to be closer to every part of Lisa. She could feel her insides vibrate: goosebumps rising all over; butterflies awaking with beating wings; eyelids fluttering to a close.

“Lisa is so good at catching.”

She heard herself saying.

And jumped she did.

Yes, July 2 2018.

That had been the first time she’d kissed Lisa first.

“You can’t date under your current contract, Chaeyoung-ah,” said Yang-sajangnim with a tone. It would have been a reprimand had Chaeyoung chose to listen to it. Chaeyoung decided she had listened to enough.

So she gave a tight smile instead.

“Are you insinuating that Lisa and I are girlfriends,” she put an air quote at girlfriend, “Sajangnim?”

Yang-sajangnim let out an exaggerated sigh and threw her hands up; his phone was now in his hold.

“Fine, I don’t care about that,” he said as he stood up.

With one hand on the table to support his bodyweight, he leaned in to stare Chaeyoung down. “Lisa posting a picture of you with her lipstick mark on your cheek,” he said through gritted teeth, “with the words ‘I love you’, with aegyo,” he croaked a laugh at the last word, “ _that_ I care about.”

Chaeyoung stayed rested against the backrest of her chair; a laugh brewed in the cavity of her chest. She let it out and found odd satisfaction when she saw Yang-sajangnim searching for the humor only to come up empty handed. His scowl deepened.

“Is this about the Jenlisa narrative?”

Yang-sajangnim shook his head at this. He began to pace and raged on about how their publicists had invested so much time and as many resources to craft the stage for this particular play. Chaeyoung’s roaming eyes fell on a miniature toy on the desk—its head a round shape of shiny red. And all she could think about was Lisa in a dress stewed with ripened cherries.

She and Lisa had been joking about how cherry sounded like their names put together. And the fact that cherry was famous on Snapchat as a symbol for “in relationship” status only made it even more fitting for them. Lisa had snatched her phone that July 2 and had posted a picture of her captioned with a pair of cherries.

“Now people will know you’re taken, Chaeng,” Lisa said with the proudest smile Chaeyoung had ever seen.

Chaeyoung’s heart had ached at seeing it—the smile; the pride; the love. _We’re so pathetic_ , Chaeyoung had wanted to say but hadn’t because Lisa’s eyes had been so big yet so drunk on her. So she had only embraced Lisa—Lisa’s giggle nested in the crook of her neck; her lone tear took refuge in the strands of Lisa’s hair. Chaeyoung had hugged Lisa tighter as she had thought of a possibility that she and Lisa had been doomed to forever sing the song of Achilles; cursed as their romance had to be that of Achilles and Patroclus—always debated for people’s convenience and amusement, never be left alone to lie in peace in the finite perpetuity of the Iliad.

A loud ping nudged Chaeyoung awake. She saw Yang-sajangnim looked at his phone and smiled. When he addressed her again, his smile broadened to that of Cheshire’s.

“You choose then,” said he, his thinning brows arched in challenge. “Your solo or your…”

He couldn’t even say it, could he?

Still she heard it in her ears: a wisp of word uttered in conviction.

Love.

Love.

“I love you, Chaeng.”

It all played in her head: crowded streets, languid rain, silver lining of clouds; freezing room, steady arms, whispered words; the piercing cold of her cross, the softest touch of Lisa’s lips.

She got up and moved to the door, already rid herself of any disguises deliberately put up by her former self.

With Lisa, she could be true.

With Lisa’s love, she could be of truth.

But the flap of a butterfly’s wings was meant to be followed by chaos. With a cruel laugh and a flash of his phone screen, he let Chaeyoung know that the other butterfly in her chaos, now not oceans but only rooms away, had also flapped its wings.

“You should learn from Lisa, Chaeyoung-ah,” he said in a low voice. “She made a wise choice.”

In the end, Patroclus still died—killed by Hector; for the sake of Achilles. Only right now there was no prophecy preceding it and no great armor of a hero worn to romanticize the downfall. It was much simpler off the pages of the Iliad: Chaeyoung fell but with no Lisa to catch her.

*****

Chaeyoung shut the door and rested her forehead on it. Her hand was quivering like drying leaves rustling. Her heart was rumbling as wildly as the thunder outside she could feel the pounds everywhere—in her ears, in her temples, explosions in her veins. Her breathing was heaved through corrupted lungs, gasping for air in a desperate attempt to keep her alive.

Was it possible to die from a broken heart? Because Chaeyoung’s heart skipped too many beats, her body quaked, and her head was about to split in two.

Through pounding ears she heard a door open. Through blurring eyes she saw Lisa’s figure.

Lisa was looking at her; the fluorescent lights scalded her already burning eyes. Lisa walked towards her; the dimmed hallways closed in on her. Lisa mouthed her name; the ringing was deafening. Lisa engulfed her in a hug; she was drowning.

She had to get out.

When she pushed the glass door with her whole body and was out of the building, the patters of the rain was no longer a muffle from underwater. Gulps of air managed to go in and out of her mouth. Her fingers were clawing at her neck, and she only realized it when Lisa took hold of her hand, intertwining their fingers to stop the movement.

“Chaeng, you’re hurting yourself,” Lisa said. Her free hand now caressed the angry marks on Chaeyoung’s neck. “Please, stop,” she murmured to the skin of Chaeyoung’s hand.

Chaeyoung actually jolted from the touches. Since when did Lisa’s touch sting instead of soothing her? She yanked her hand, accidently hit Lisa’s cheek, and her first instinct was to cradle Lisa’s face. It made her want to gag. Lisa had let her jump and fall then had left her to rot on the ground. She would not grovel. So Chaeyoung ran. She heard Lisa calling her name, voice subdued by pouring rain, and, not long after, chasing after her.

Lisa grabbed her arm and put the spread of a small umbrella above her.

“Don’t touch me!”

It was the first time she really looked at Lisa. And she saw the flicker of sadness on Lisa’s doe-eyes. She didn’t even want to imagine how her eyes looked right now. But she knew she hated Lisa at the moment.

“Chaeyoung-ah, you’ll get sick,” Lisa pleaded, on the verge of tears herself. “Let’s talk at home, okay? You’re cold,” she continued through chattering teeth.

Chaeyoung didn’t know how but she found herself limping into their dorm and then into her room. She recalled how she had seen the rain hit the small of Lisa’s back that hadn’t been under the shelter of the umbrella. Lisa had looked so small under her glare and had been shivering all over. And Chaeyoung’s stupid heart had caved in once again.

The click of her door lock was followed by knocks, which soon turned into bangs. Every plea and cry out of Lisa’s mouth stabbed Chaeyoung right in the heart. But she stayed rooted on where she stood—on the other side—even when what was left of Lisa was a sob-wrecking heap on the floor with occasional heavy slaps and unceasing, almost delirious, rasps.

“It’s me, Chaeng…”

_Slap_.

“It’s me, it’s me, it’s me…”

_Slap. Slap._

“Chaeyoung-ah, Chaeyoung-ah, it’s me, Lisa...”

_Slap. Slap. Slap._

Chaeyoung had to bury her mouth in both her palms to stop a terrible sob from bleeding out. It boiled in the pool of dread in her gut, crawled up to her heart, choked out of her throat and into her mouth as molten bile. For a second she was certain she was about to vomit her heart in splotches of blood. When she slid down the door to sit on the floor, her shoulders shook from all the buried sobs.

“Lisa-yah.”

She felt Lisa move and there was a thud behind her back right after.

“Chaeng!” Lisa said. “It’s me!”

The childlike glee Lisa often used to regard her was palpable even now. Why was Lisa doing this to her? Lisa was the one forsaking her but somehow Lisa was hopeful and she guilty.

“Let’s stop.”

She squeezed her eyes shut.

“Stop what?”

The door handle rattled.

“Can you open the door so I can see you?”

“Stop! Just stop pretending like you care!”

Its force halted both Lisa’s voice and the rattle to a silence.

“You betrayed me! I chose you, I chose _us_ ,” she said in between harsh gasps, “over my music, over my first love.”

Love—she burst into tears again she just curled into a fetus and rocked against the door. Lisa was quiet now; not even a wind of her breath rose to air.

“They took away my music, Lisa-yah.”

Lisa bolted then. The stomps of her feet vanished behind the slam of a door. And Chaeyoung laid herself on the floor, its coolness a remedy for her scorching body.

Her thoughts before she fell asleep had been of a burial under which she stashed most of her discarded disguises. What a gigantic pile it was. Her hand was knuckle-deep in the ground, soil pooled around her wrist, dirt resided under her nails. The ghosts were now free of their abodes in the back of her mind. They made a full apparition—body a coil of black, teeth shone in rigid grin, tongue slithering out. They clung to her body atop the mound of the burial, as if to push her in and drag her to hell beneath.

They hissed into her ears.

“That’s what she does, Chaeyoung-ah.”

Their voices were eerily familiar, coming from dull rooms, dark hallways, looming structure down the street.

“She gives you the medicine then the sickness.”

A tear trickled down as she listened to the rainfalls against the window and finally closed her eyes. She wished it wouldn’t hurt this much tomorrow. But the rain was now a storm. The wind howled and billowed under blackened skies, muting even the loudest of thunders, scaring away even the brightest of stars.

*****

Tomorrow didn’t hurt. Lisa was not in sight at all and the unnies, both equally clueless, told her that Lisa caught a fever. They did throw her a weird look as to why she didn’t go running into Lisa’s room and made a fuss about it. They only let Chaeyoung go when they saw the conspicuous dark circles under her eyes.

“You should get some rest, Rosie,” said Jennie in English. She put a glass of hot milk and two slices of toasts on the dining table. The marble gleamed under the shower of soft, morning light. “Jisoo unnie and I will take care of Lisa for you.”

Chaeyoung spared Jennie unnie a glance before scurrying away with the foods. She couldn’t look at Jennie unnie without being afraid of spilling the hatred she had felt for Lisa out. She ended up mumbling a thank you and went back to her room.

Her room was so spotless: the bed made; the miscellaneous small objects tidied up in clusters; the window opened to let the remains of last night’s wind blow inside; the voile curtain flowing like a tail of a kite. It caused an itch she couldn’t scratch because her insides were such a shipwreck. So she made a wreck out of her bedroom: bed sheets crumpled; little things cluttered; fragile things shattered. She cloaked it all under incessant beats of alternative songs she often played. If she heard Jisoo unnie’s calling and ignored it, she would say she’d fallen asleep.

She entered Lisa’s room once she heard both Jisoo and Jennie unnie went to their respective room. Lisa was sleeping under thick blankets—sweat glistening where the moonlight bathed her face. Chaeyoung took a towel from the bedside table and dabbed at Lisa’s exposed skin. When Lisa stirred, Chaeyoung shot up from her seat and turned to the doorway. She stopped when she heard Lisa’s rambles. They were mostly incoherent and spoken in Thai but she caught snippets of it. There were _mom_ and _hate_. She also heard her own name.

“Chaeyoung-ie hates me, Mom.”

It played like broken records.

When she saw the tears, she reached for Lisa’s searching hand and dropped to her knees, her mouth close to Lisa’s ear.

“She doesn’t,” she said in broken Thai.

She didn’t know much of the language, spoke of it only through a staccato of few words, so she opted to sing a lullaby Lisa had taught her and to trace mindless patterns on the back of Lisa’s hand.

What she would pay to be able to shout and screamed her heart out. Her chest was too scuffed now. Her shoulders were all tight knots. Her head was a heavy load. But of course she had to do her part on the play: the happy-go-lucky best friend whose sole purpose was to feed the ego of the protagonist; the supportive friend who was jubilant every time her two friends displaying affection in public; and, this was her favorite, the black sheep who was only there when a third party, preferably a potential home-wrecker, was needed.

The days after tomorrow hurt. Lisa had woken up from her feverish dream, not talking her heart out in jumbled mumbles anymore, and now stuck close to Jennie unnie all the time—only this time Lisa didn’t slink under her blanket to hold her at night. Chaeyoung struggled to stay in-character as she had to act all jolly with Lisa in front of the cameras while, in fact, she was busy avoiding Lisa. She couldn’t decide whether she should curse or appraise Lisa for the performance. So when she saw Lisa looking from behind the door watching her practice Eyes Closed she just closed her eyes; when Lisa clung to her shoulders and kissed her temple at the airport she swallowed the lump in her throat and stretched a smile; and when Lisa inched closer to her after she had finished her solo stage of their Fukuoka round she just passed by Lisa. It was a game of encumbered chasing and blatant avoidance now that people around them began to throw some looks and exchanged whispers among themselves. One day she received a slip of paper from one of the staffs. On the small, torn paper was a number and a name in an immaculate handwriting. She had toyed with the paper for a day or two before she decided to give it a try. She rarely met the man anyway so where was the harm in it?

She and Jungkook texted a lot since. Their texts were never long but never curt. It was nice. Too nice that she stopped steering clear of Lisa because she wasn’t paying as much attention to the latter anymore.

“You’ve been smiling at your phone a lot, Chaeyoung-ah,” said Jisoo unnie one night after they had wrapped up yet another show. She flopped down into the couch next to Chaeyoung and took a peek at her phone; Chaeyoung quickly put it in her pocket.

“My friend’s been sending me memes, Unnie.”

Chaeyoung could see a set of peering eyes from where Lisa, holding a conversation with Jennie unnie, stood near a row of make-up tables lit up by a bunch of bulbs. Under the probing lights and her bangs, Lisa’s eyes were shadowed, almost hollow.

It had been a month of her and Jungkook texting back and forth when the doorman of their apartment building knocked at the door of their dorm, delivering an assortment of bestseller dishes from her favorite Thai place, with a bouquet of roses—white, red, orange, pink, purple; their robust was a startle to the dark uniform of the man.

“For Miss Park Chaeyoung,” he said.

Jisoo and Jennie unnie helped her arrange the foods on the table all the while smiling at her like parents whose eldest daughter just got picked up by her prom date.

“Your friend upgraded from memes to roses,” Jennie unnie chirped, “in two, three week-ish. Nice, Rosie!”

Chaeyoung shook her head in fond exasperation at her unnies’ antics. She saw Lisa drop the bouquet on the kitchen island and stood there for a long time, hands gripping the polished marble her knuckles had turned white. When Lisa went back to playing with her phone, Chaeyoung walked to the bloom of flowers and saw a crumpled card lying discarded not too far away from it. The card said: I don’t know what you like so I just bring everything to you. It was signed with a simple J.

“We can eat it, right?” Jisoo said with wiggling eyebrows.

Chaeyoung regarded the card once more.

“Yeah, you guys eat first.” She showed her phone. “I think I should give him a call.” She tried to ignore the cheer Jisoo unnie gave her but she saw Lisa getting up and following her pace, stopping at the door of her room she left ajar. She went to the window and let it open; the earthy scent of after-rain wafted inside. Autumn suddenly felt like May.

It didn’t take long for her call to be answered, and Chaeyoung could practically hear a smile from Jongkook’s hello. He insisted that it wasn’t a grand gesture; it was a result of his lack of knowledge of her.

She took a Cony keychain slumping against a stack of books instead of a brown bear. It dangled in her finger, swayed by the incoming wind.

“I like _khao pad khung_ , tom yum, _som tam_ ,” she trailed off at the end.

It was so easy for the small white bunny to nestle itself in between swirls of petals, waiting for the magician’s cue. The magician never expected any applause as the act itself was never a trick. It was a transformation relished in sanctity, experienced between two (bodies, loves, souls). The gift of the magi some liked to say.

“White roses,” Chaeyoung sighed out. She sank into the fluff of her bed. Her right hand brushed against the frills hemming her bed. She closed her eyes and there she lay on beds of lilies and sunflowers. “Those are my favorites.”

They talked for almost an hour. When Chaeyoung went back to the kitchen, Jisoo unnie was alone.

“Jennie and Lisa were out,” she said. Her eyes glued to the Nintendo in her hands. “And, no, they didn’t go out together.” Her eyes flitted to where Chaeyoung seated eating her late dinner.

It was much later in the night—lights gone out, moon high, rain receded—that someone pounded on her door. It opened to Lisa: hair unkempt, eyes red, jaw pronounced, hands clenched in fists. Lisa staggered in her feet and then into her; Lisa’s arms now slung around her shoulders. Their two meshed bodies swayed a little.

Under the whisper of Dreaming of You playing from a speaker in the corner of her room, Chaeyoung could hear water trickling down Lisa’s drenched coat, splashing against the floor, and she felt it seep into her oversized hoodie. She didn’t know whether she had hugged Lisa back but Lisa caught her hand when she turned around.

“Don’t go,” Lisa said.

Her voice was hoarse and her hand shook trying to tug on Chaeyoung’s hand.

“I’m getting you some clothes. We need to change.”

Lisa hung her head down.

“Sorry.”

When Lisa walked back into the bedroom, Chaeyoung had already changed into a thick flannel shirt four times bigger than her actual size that the hem covered her thighs in a loose dangle. She could see Lisa’s eyes roam over her exposed legs before being averted to the array of plushies on the bed. Chaeyoung sat against the headboard with her chin perched on the fold of her knees. Lisa trod carefully and settled on sitting at the foot of the bed. Her figure hunched, cocooned in Chaeyoung’s favorite sweatshirt.

The music had made it to Apocalypse the moment Lisa started talking.

“Jennie unnie has been dating someone.”

The sentence oozed confidence Lisa might as well be informing Chaeyoung about the weather. Chaeyoung got to her feet, flinching at the cold floor, and faced Lisa.

“What do you mean?”

She saw the taut of Lisa’s shoulders, reminiscent of a charging bow, and Chaeyoung’s heart began to race.

“No,” she corrected. “What did you do?”

Lisa wasn’t looking at her. Lisa only pulled Chaeyoung closer and buried her face in Chaeyoung’s midriff—her nose brushing Chaeyoung’s ribs.

“I took photos of her on dates and brought them to Sajangnim.”

Chaeyoung wrenched Lisa’s hands away from her body and took several steps back.

“Lisa-yah,” her voice wavered, “why? She’s our sister.” Chaeyoung’s eyes widened. “What about Jisoo unnie? We told her Jennie unnie might have a crush on her. She would be devastated.”

From her seat Lisa lurched forward and to her feet.

“Because I’m in love with you!”

Lisa’s bloodshot eyes glistened with tears. They were wide open—unblinking.

The same eyes, though not as weary, had held Yang-sajangnim’s in a steely gaze. Torrential rain had splattered the office window with trashing waters.

“You underestimate,” Lisa had spat with a barely discernible growl, “what I will and will _not_ do for her.”

Lisa had left him a sprawl of photographs and he had to choose: agreeing to her and giving Dispatch the news—playing some cards—or letting her leak it to Dispatch—playing with his hands tied.

She had made a deal with the devil, yes. But still he had asked Chaeyoung to choose then condemned Chaeyoung for making the choice—the choice Chaeyoung hadn’t had to make in the first place.

Yang-sajangnim had slammed his desk, his voice thundering.

“You’re gonna betray your friends?!”

Lisa hadn’t answered. Her last thoughts before leaving the office had been: there is no good and evil in love.

How could there be? When her conjured thoughts and manifested actions stemmed solely from her love for Chaeyoung? They didn’t anchor on any other: norms, values, dogmas; those didn’t matter. Those were social constructs. _This_ was something pure, perhaps magical that was unique to her. It was authentic as she herself gave birth to it.

But Chaeyoung was an angel and Lisa was a terrible person.

She scratched at her chest then jumbled up the article of clothing covering it. Her heart could hardly contain her feelings; it yearned to beat close to its owner. It would be easier if she could tear her chest open and hand her heart over to Chaeyoung.

“I think,” Lisa gulped, “if we can’t build our house in a flowery garden then any other place is okay too. As long as we’re together.” Her tears spilt over.

She didn’t deserve Chaeyoung.

Lisa did think that if their love couldn’t stand on the shoulders of giants, it might as well do on the ruins of ones.

Chaeyoung must have hated her.

She screwed her eyes shut when Chaeyoung spoke in a hush.

“Like Paris.”

There was a dreamlike quality the meaning of which would be hard to comprehend for other people—but not for Lisa. They talked about and thought of Paris a lot: Hôtel-Dieu, Notre-Dame, Champs-Élysées, Marie Antoinette, Le Louvre, A Tale of Two Cities, La Tour Eiffel, Sacré-Cœur, Montmatre. The blood, sweat, and tears of people past had built them. Paris itself stood above a maze of dead bodies, most of which didn’t even have a name—slaughtered lambs to a revolution ending in yet another glory of one instead of many. Paris endured through over-romanticized history and thrived amidst nightmares of past mistakes, getting brighter each passing day.

“Like Paris,” answered Lisa in awe.

The song was Sweet now.

Chaeyoung stepped much closer and put her hand on the curve of Lisa’s neck; her thumb stroked the underside of Lisa’s jaw.

“I’m scared, Chaeng,” she said. “I love you so much I’m willing to hurt others. I just want you to be happy.”

Lisa brought Chaeyoung’s palm to her lips to kiss it, to her nose to breathe it in.

“I want us to be happy together, Chaeyoung-ah.”

Her eyes fell shut again; this time it was out of relief. She let both her hands skimmed over the length of Chaeyoung’s arm.

“I’m not going anywhere, Lisa-yah,” Chaeyoung whispered.

Their forehead almost touched.

“I think I’m going crazy.” Lisa let out a strangled sob. She dropped her head and said to Chaeyoung’s knuckle, “I don’t regret doing what I did.”

Chaeyoung tilted Lisa’s head and brought their gazes to a lock.

“Then let’s be crazy together.” The conviction with which it was uttered sounded so much like a vow. “Because I love you even more now.”

The shame on Lisa’s face morphed into confusion as Lisa didn’t expect Chaeyoung to laugh and cry simultaneously.

“God, I’m awful!”

Lisa shook her head and took Chaeyoung’s face in her hands.

“It’s _you_ ,” she murmured into the flushed skin of Chaeyoung’s forehead. “You couldn’t be awful.” She kissed the tip of Chaeyoung’s nose.

She had seen a lot of Chaeyoung. Chaeyoung was ethereal when barefaced, cute when annoyed, passionate when making music, fiery when angry, and kind-hearted most of the time.

“How could you be anything but beautiful, Chaeyoung-ah?” Lisa breathed into Chaeyoung’s lips. “My Chaeyoung.” She tangled her hand in the length of Chaeyoung’s tresses.

They kissed then. The kiss tasted like salt that left them thirsty; the only salvation was to get more of it. It was different than their previous kisses as there was a sense of urgency to it—like parched, cracked soils chugging down the rainfall. It lasted until it drew a moan from them each, until the gaping cracks were all filled with water. The flowers could finally flourish.

Lisa dragged her lips to Chaeyoung’s chin then feathery-kissed her way to the cheek.

“We should stop,” Lisa said through ragged breath.

Their flowers deserved to be fully in bloom—their cherry blossoming.

They lay on the bed, their intertwined hands in between them. Chaeyoung blessed kisses on Lisa’s hand, on Lisa’s wrist, feeling the pulses when she said that she had to see Jungkook at Gayo Daejun later in December.

A familiar fear gripped Lisa’s heart.

“I thought we’re together now?”

Her eyes blinked fast.

“We are!” Chaeyoung went to embrace her. With her head on Chaeyoung’s chest, she could hear each skip of the heart. “I owe him an explanation. It’s the right thing to do, Love.”

Lisa wanted to beg for Chaeyoung not to see Jungkook. But Chaeyoung had been a kind soul even before Lisa loved her. And Chaeyoung was perfect the way she was.

So Lisa just stared at Chaeyoung.

“Your eyes are so beautiful, Lisa-yah,” said Chaeyoung as she played with Lisa’s bang. Her finger traced a path down the bridge of Lisa’s nose then bopped its tip.

Lisa bit her lips and ducked her head.

“Complimenting is my job!”

“Then start!”

“I like your breasts, Chaeng.” Lisa nuzzled into the soft mounds. “I mean they could be bigger but—”

Chaeyoung rolled over and sat on Lisa’s stomach, hitting Lisa on repeat with one of her stuffed toys. “You’re such an asshole!”

Lisa cackled and caught Chaeyoung’s hands. They rolled around on the bed: bickering; tickling each other; making out; and laughing some more into each other’s mouth.

“So, Paris, huh?” Lisa elbowed Chaeyoung’s side.

They lay once again next to each other—their eyes beholding, their hands finding, their bodies gravitating toward.

When Chaeyoung nodded, Lisa gave an excited grin.

“Just you wait,” Lisa inched closer, “I’m gonna propose to you there!”

It sent Chaeyoung into a laughing fit for a whole minute. Chaeyoung in laugh was Lisa’s favorite Lisa wished she could freeze time to create a space in which she and Chaeyoung could be together forever. But she also loved sad Chaeyoung who naturally curled into her embrace to cry the sadness away. Singing Chaeyoung was also an apple of Lisa’s eyes—every bit of the all-consuming, captivating red. It frustrated her sometimes that she wasn’t able to have—no, to experience every part of Chaeyoung all at once. But Chaeyoung was Starry Night Over the Rhone and she was a wandering tourist in Musée d’Orsay. She could do with little—opting to cherish whichever part Chaeyoung chose to share with her.

“We haven’t even been past second base, Lisa-yah!” Chaeyoung snickered as she stuck her tongue out at Lisa. “Take me out on a date first.”

They did go on a dinner date later that October: candles flickering fire; sounds of acoustic guitar echoing; fingers twirling two long-stemmed white roses; their bashful smiles etched to their faces the entire nights.

“Hypothetically speaking,” Chaeyoung bit the inside of her cheeks, “where in Paris are you going to do that?”

“Jardin des tuileries. With a bouquet of fleurs de lys. And we’ll kiss behind tall bushes.”

Chaeyoung surged forward and kissed her again, this time with promised caresses of tongue. Lisa thought of how Chaeyoung told her about this place a long time ago out of boredom. Somehow it just stayed with them.

A tile factory had once stood where the garden was now. A Queen in the 16th century had had the garden built. Much later The Sun King, Louis XIV, himself had requested his notable gardener to better the landscape. This garden had survived the test of time and been thriving for over half a millennium.

Beautiful things did grow from grey concrete as long as the right person was there to nurture them into florescence. Chaeyoung always said that. Wonderful things required efforts and sacrifices—ones we wanted or didn’t want to make. So Lisa and Chaeyoung stayed pathetic: a heart made of fallen leaves; Chaeyoung’s vague post on Instagram; and Lisa posting late intentionally. But they had learned to see it as something other than a curse. After all they didn’t live in leather-bound books. They weren’t a part of a myth like Achilles and Patroclus. They weren’t preserved in history books like Anthony and Cleopatra. The bible didn’t mention them like it did Samson and Delilah. And maybe their story would remain fleeting whispers among shushed conversations; their love would be appreciated by few and damned by many; their journey un-narrated, shrouded in mystery. Really they wouldn’t stop being pathetic anytime soon.

But it was fine. Because they had soared off the pages and to the sky, gliding along Valéry’s rising wind, dancing along to the tune of their own music.

**Author's Note:**

> Since it's canon compliant, here is my disclaimer:
> 
> 1\. I wrote this story because people were talking (and being bumped) about Dispatch's 2021 dating rumors, which was said to be involving Rosé/Lisa. That's why the purpose of this story is to entertain. Even if the rumor were to be true, it won't make Chaelisa any less real. And—this is important—if you happen to believe it to be a media play or anything, it's okay. Just don't rub it on other people's face. Let's be respectful of other people and their opinions.
> 
> 2\. This story was written as others were: I researched then wrote my interpretation of it. I watched some videos from several YT channels (e.g. "Rosielis shi", "Pransé ParkManoban", etc.) and read the comment sections. The comments I did take into consideration were mostly written by: (1) people following BP since their debut days; (2) Koreans with knowledge of the (general and/or dating) cultures and rumors; (3) mature people (some of them are even married adults). I disregard comments from people who like to bash other people/ships without any provocation/reason because this just shows that they are (sorry not sorry) childish—hence unreliable.
> 
> 3\. The moments (of Chaelisa) I noted were mostly pretty obvious; I didn't analyze anything. Interpreting and analyzing are two different things; the former doesn't start with a hypothesis; the latter starts with one and often seeks to prove one. Let's be honest we have experienced writing a mid-term paper in which we tried so hard to explain (or babble) that our hypothesis was true ;)
> 
> 4\. This story can be read as a standalone but I do recommend you read Buried Giants to gain more contexts.
> 
> 5\. On top of things, I love words and writing so your critic and opinion are always welcome. Enjoy!


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